Meet Our New Old House!
Ever since having kids, keeping up with the blogging/writing practice has been challenging. It’s a hobby, not a jobby. Since I barely find time to shower, sitting down to write never feels like something I have the time or energy for.
The whole premise of this blog was to face my fears and tackle things outside my comfort zone. Becoming a parent certainly ticked both of those boxes, but it’s so exhausting, I have a hard time writing about it in this format (though spoiler alert: I am writing a book about it!).
And then on March 12, 2020, an opportunity to face my fears hit me smack dab in the inbox (which sounds very dirty, but no, I mean I got an email from our neighbor Mary).
Molly the house across the street will go up for sale within the next week or two. L and M are now in a nursing home. It is structurally sound and has all of the original elements- its’s beautiful. The realtor is giving me first dibs on telling people. Do you know anyone who might be interested?
Original penny tile. Hubba Hubba!
I didn’t know anyone that was interested, but I must confess: I’ve been OBSESSED with this home ever since we bought our house eight years ago. Initially, it wasn’t so much the house that intrigued me, but the people who lived there.
Every community has their resident “that guy” or “that gal” member. In ours, there’s this one tall, skinny dude with a mullet that struts down the street in cowboy boots as though he’s spent the last six years riding a horse. There’s Scott Seekins. And then there is Wolfman.
My favorite view in the house.
My friend Liz (who lives downstairs from us) and I gave him that name because he reminded us of and older Wolf from American Gladiators. He had long, gray hair, and was very tan all summer due to his excessive walking. He’d wear verrrry short, black running shorts, black sneakers and nothing else. He was maybe 70, but super ripped, and power-walked with a very intense cadence and expression. I one time tried to say hello to Wolfman— you know, be neighborly— but he looked right through me.
Aside from the power walking, the only times I ever saw him outside his home walking home from the grocery store with a 12-pack of soda in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other; when he shoveled his sidewalk in the winter; or when he mowed his lawn in the summer. In addition to the black running shorts, he only had two other outfits: a blue sweat suit, and plaid bell bottoms and a yellowed button-down shirt, aka his lawn mowing outfit. Some evenings, we could see his silhouette doing pull-ups and calisthenics in the living room. He really liked to exercise.
Check out that gorgeous green tile! The fireplace technically works, but it was intended for coal-burning fires (nope), so we’re trying to decide how to update. Gas insert (not ideal, but easy!), or line the chimney and burn wood. Also, see the pull-up bar/Wolfman’s home gym.
Wolfman lived with an elderly woman that I believed to be his mother. She never left the house, just occasionally stood in the front window, staring off into space. It seemed he did not have a key to the house, as she was the one who let him out, then let him back in every time he’d leave. They didn’t seem to ever have visitors, and from what I could tell, never spoke to the neighbors. I never saw the woman leave the house aside from two incidents when she left in an ambulance. Major Boo Radley vibes!
Wish I’d worn cooler shoes this day, TBH.
I finally asked the Queen of our neighborhood, Mary, about this couple. Mary told me the old woman’s (we’ll call her L) parents bought the house in 1955, and she’s lived there her whole life. She was once a model and met her HUSBAND not son, aka Wolfman, at a sports bar downtown Minneapolis. He was a super-hunk who’d recently returned from Vietnam. They married in 1969, and after a few years in a nearby apartment, they moved back into the house with her parents, who died in the 80s.
Can’t buy details like this at Home Depot.
Wolfman apparently suffers from terrible PTSD after serving in Vietnam. L is blind. The two of them have no siblings, no children, and no friends. Mary said she’d only seen L leave the house a few times in the last thirty years, and believed she suffered from untreated mental illness.
Last December, there was a bunch of ambulance action. And then I didn’t see Wolfman (or L, standing in the window) for weeks. Three months later, we got Mary’s text:
Do you know anyone who might be interested in the house?
The previous owners didn’t have internet, tv, a radio or laundry. But they did have this amazing phone!
It turns out, Wolfman suffered a major stroke in December. He survived, but is now in a nursing home. L lived in the house by herself for a month, then ended up moving into the nursing home as well. They are only 75.
We weren’t looking to move, though our place was starting to feel very cramped now that we have two kids, a dog and cat. I’d been so intrigued by this house and this couple that I just could not pass up the opportunity to snoop. It was easy to get Josh onboard. After all, we weren’t really interested in buying. We’re just going to look. (Pssst… we all know how “we’re just going to look” goes… how do you think all those dogs at the Human Society get adopted?)
This is the pier mirror, intended to reflect light. The fixtures next to it are gas. They don’t work anymore.
The home is a time capsule-- hardly anything has changed since it was built in 1903. The woodwork is pristine, and has never been painted. There are two (!) fireplaces with beautiful Italian tile. All of the original light fixtures are still in use. There’s an incredible pier mirror in the living room, flanked by two original (but non-functional) gaslight fixtures. The garage is an original barn, complete with a chute for feeding your horses.
More images of the home gym.
As I stood in the doorway of the upstairs parlor, I just… knew.
I wonder whose portrait used to hang here.
We closed on May 1, 2020.
For the last nine months, Josh and I have been fixing her up. And when I say Josh and I, I mostly mean Josh and a handful of contractors. We updated all the plumbing, rewired most of the house, gutted the kitchen and upstairs bathroom, added a powder room on the first floor, and scraped off six layers of wallpaper off every surface that was not wood. It’s right across the street from our current house, which makes it so much easier to pop over after work, especially during a pandemic where “work” happens at home.
There are so many things that made this decision scary.
In no particular order:
How will we afford this? (The answer: loans.)
Did we take on too much during, especially during a pandemic? (honestly, what else is there to do?)
What if we discover something truly catastrophic to the home’s structure? (nothing too major yet…)
What if the house is haunted? (It is, and his name is Harry).
Will we ever finish this project? (probably not)
Can our marriage handle the pressure? (it was actually my wild idea to foster dogs again, not the remodel, that made us briefly hate each other’s guts)
What if we pick the wrong tile/light fixtures/kitchen layout/paint color/omg there are soooo many decisions to make, and all at the same time! (cue me frantically breathing into a paper bag)
The upstairs parlor where I had my “We’re buying this house” epiphany.
Ultimately, we decided it was just too good an opportunity to pass up. It’s been stressful and fun; messy and really messy. But something feels really good about bringing this beautiful home back to life. She deserves it. We’re so glad we didn’t have to sit across the street, watching it bulldozed to the ground to make space for condos. Likely, that would’ve been her fate.
Establishing a relationship with the former owner, L, felt important to me. I lived across the street from her for eight years, and didn’t speak to her once. And not for a lack of trying, but she rarely left the house, and I was afraid of her husband. I called her a few weeks after we closed, and we’ve been calling each other every few weeks since. She’s isolated in a nursing home, hasn’t seen her husband in a year due to the pandemic and his higher care needs. She can’t see, so I honestly don’t know how she spends her days. I’ve dropped off a cozy robe, socks, lip balm, plants, whatever I think might be nice for her to have. She truly seems happy in her new home, though she’s terribly lonely.
I know some people think it’s weird for me to forge a relationship with the woman who used to own my house. When I’ve dropped things off for her, the staff asks, “Oh are you her granddaughter?”
“No, I’ve actually never met her.”
They think I’m nuts, but it feels like the right thing to do.
One of the bedrooms, complete with what I think is a lovely dresser.
So… that’s our Covid project. Have you taken on any weird projects during Covid? Learned a new skill? Done absolutely nothing?
Let us know if you have any questions about our reno! Josh and I are happy to share pretty much anything. That’s what the comments section is for.
